Gakuen Hetalia: Worst Job Ever
by chaos-music
Summary: Within a prestigious academy where countries are tasked with the -terrifying-  job of instructing capitals, the Kingdom of Prussia must handle the hardest subject of all: Social Studies. It's hard to survive when Moscow sits in the front row. Oneshot.


Okay! Second Hetalia story, this time set in an odd Gakuen Hetalia. The countries are still countries. The capitals are the capitals.

Enjoy! Please review and tell me what you thought. :)

WARNING: A lot, and I mean A LOT of swearing. And sadistic female capitals.

_I disclaim many things. A lot of which you will find in here. _

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**Gakuen Hetalia: Worst Job _Ever._**

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Some people would think that instructing a bunch of wide-eyed pre-adolescents with a strong creative bent would be a wonderful honour bestowed on only the best teachers in the school.

Those people were deluded souls living fantasies in their wacked-out minds, because the great and awesome Prussia _was_ the best teacher in _the damn world_ and he was stuck with a bunch of wide-eyed pre-adolescents with a strong _homicidal_ bent.

Yes, fucking _homicidal. _

The worst part was that this was the only job he hadn't been fired from, and he didn't want the oh-so-respectable and diverse Gakuen Hetalia to lose a huge portion of its awesome by leaving. In other words, he was stuck with risking his and Gilbird's life every single freaking day.

Gilbert Weillschmidt had, one hour ago, sprawled himself across an overused, yet tasteful, red velvet couch in the teacher's lounge, sipping slowly from a beer (he'd need the rest of it for after the class). He had spent the hour enjoying himself with annoying the hell out of Arthur, stealing Luddy's paperwork, and pulling general pranks on everyone in the vicinity. In fact, he was still currently doing so, despite the fact that his class was due to start in three minutes, and he should've already been walking down there.

Really, his class was lethal. The sheer amounts of insanity, warfreakish death wishing, and artsyness could do one in, drop one's body in a ditch, and cremate it. And then some.

Which was why it was perfectly reasonable to be afraid to go teach one's class.

Unfortunately, none of the other teachers ever saw eye to eye with him on that.

"Aren't you supposed to be somewhere?" England, or _Arthur_ said, voice dripping acid, standing over him with his hands on his hips-_ha, pansy ass._

Prussia peered at him with half-lidded eyes and a Cheshire cat grin. "Nein."

A smirk. "Is that so?" Raised eyebrow-oh _damn, _those _eyebrows._

"Yep, that is so because I said so and I am awesome and Awesome's word is _law, _damn straight."

"According to_ my _schedule," Arthur told him, as if Gilbert needed reminding that Arthur was headmaster _and_ English professor, "_you_ have a Social Studies class to teach in two minutes." Something of the delinquent Arthur was rumoured to have been in a past life showed itself in his grin. "You're actually _scared_, aren't you?"

"Pssh, me? No fucking way!" Gilbert grinned lazily up at the Brit. "_Do you see this?" _One long, pale finger jabbed itself at his own chest. "This is _awesomeness_. Nothing can touch this. And," he added, "if anything can scare me, it's your damnable eyebrows, Art."

Arthur flared, face turning red and said eyebrows knitting down. "You will get your b-bloody arse down there in one minute or else that arse will be kicked out of a job."

"Geez, cool it, prez."

_"Headmaster!"_

"Fine, fine, Head_mas_ter. But you're buying drinks later."

Gilbert thought he heard a quiet _"...sod off you barmy git."_ as he sauntered out the door.

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The first thing that hit him when he entered that accursed classroom was a rotten apple, writhing with black worms and dripping in poison. Not encouraging.

"WHICHEVER OF YOU BITCHES THREW THAT AT ME, DETENTION. For three weeks. With Russia," he screamed, scratching worms off his eyes and waiting for the disconcerting childish giggles that he knew would come.

A quiet groan and a deceptively reassuring voice met him instead.

Insanity met his eyes from the front row—oh damn, it was her. Moscow.

Ah, Moscow. Screw that damn unawesome little monster. Poster child for insanity and carrier of bipolarity disorder, schizophrenia, dissociative identity disorder, yandereness, ADHD, necrophilia, and probably level five of the Hinamizawa Syndrome to boot. The only one who came close to her in terms of scariness—_insanity, he meant insanity!_—was Tokyo and her freaky other persona, Kristahlia. Rumours were that Kristahlia was a government program (Which government? Nobody knew) that had been installed in a then-innocent Tokyo's head. Whatever, the "three" of them together were unawesomely creepy and scared him shitless.

After the last mini-cobra had been successfully torn away from his eyes' immediate vicinity, he was free to glare at the eerily silent classroom. They were planning something. Something terrible and illegal and most probably disgusting. _They had to be. They're going to kill you, Gilbert, and they won't do it quick._

Oh, bloody hell. Not the voices.

Gilbert gathered his wits about him and strode forward, stopping impressively in front of the blackboard. _He _had actually planned to occupy this entire time with a long and extremely awesome quiz filled with complicated questions designed to test their awesomeness. The best part—it was a _pop_ quiz. Even if he did manage to get himself impaled and set fire to after class, at least he'd have given them what they deserved.

Besides, he'd make an awesome corpse. Not that he'd like to be one, but still.

"Well, unfortunate little bitches," he said, impressively clapping pale fingers together. "Today you will all be tested in your knowledge of pure awesomeness—"

Groans and the odd creepy glare.

"—yes, this is graded, poor saps. Do your fucking best. I can't afford to have my _own class_ fail on me, can I?" Gilbert smirked, slamming a thick stack of papers onto the nearest desk. "It would be an insult to my awesomeness. Right. Pass the papers on."

There was grumbling and papers rustling as the students not-so-quietly glanced at the test questionnaires and signalled across the room whom to copy from. Gilbert gave them his trademark grin and settled into his chair at the front, booted feet up on the desk, and little Gilbird chirping happily, hopping around his silvery locks.

The happiness was short-lived.

Ten minutes into the exam, Moscow, getting up from her seat at the far right of the front row, swished forward and landed her paper on the desk, scarf fluttering against Gilbert's head. She did not forget to give him a smile that said quite plainly what she thought of _him_ and _his exam. And how much she wanted to lock him in a small, dark room filled with whirring blades and record his screams._

Thirty seconds after that, Athens, another archenemy and far too smart for her own good, followed, hardly sparing him—_the awesome_ him!-a glance.

Un-for-_givable._

Next was Tokyo, and then Beijing, and then all the rest, and some random dude who looked rather awesome but he didn't know. Which was weird, because he was teaching an all-girl class. But oh well.

He sent them off with a customary "—and remember, I WILL CONQUER YOUR VITAL REGIONS!" and they walked out the door with the traditional shudder-look of disgust combo that so reminded him why he even bothered to show up. As usual, Moscow stayed behind and informed him how much better he would seem _without his so-called_ five meters and he told her to _fuck off, crazy witch_.

And then...they were gone. Every last one of those little monsters were gone, out of sight, out of mind, not here.

Oh, fuck _yeah._ Now he could grade papers in peace and maybe surf FaceBook—he had at least 8000 friends already, due to their exposure to sheer, undiluted awesomeness—and then he could carpool with Ca-Cana-_Mattie_ and drag him to some random bar and eat some of the most epic pancakes ever.

He ignored how dorky and antisocial he had just sounded and moved the laptop on his desk to the side and face the first paper in the stack.

Athens'. Oh yeah.

He felt the oddest surge of power right there, knowing he had absolute control over if she would pass that semester. Knowing the joys of being able to fail a student just because he damn well felt like it. Knowing that he _really didn't want to see her next year and therefore had to pass her. _

"Life," he said out loud, "is a bitch."

He stared hard at the first question he had put much (little) thought into and—

Oh what _was_ that.

There was an abominable _lie_ right on the dotted line where her answer should have been. His extremely awesome and well-thought-out question had been simple: _True or False, your social studies teachers embodies all awesomeness. Explain why._

And that little freak had written "Like I care about all of that. Anyway, he isn't really that awesome. I beat him in an argument once."

Gilbert shuffled nervously through the stack until Moscow's testpaper was on top. She had written "_False_—our social studies teacher regularly insults the class, cannot shoulder the weight of instructing a few problematic students, and—"

He had to stop there and take calming breaths to rid himself of blasphemy. Well, maybe it was just the first question—

Gilbird peeped.

"Shut it, you," he said, pointing his Prussian Green ballpoint pen at the bird before moving the papers around until he was back to Athens' paper.

Her answer to the second question, _Enumerate five causes of awesome in this class (Hint: he's red-eyed and awesome),_ had been the same name five times in a row...some dude named Sebastian Michaelis. What the fuck. Who the hell was this dude and—

Oh. A note under his name read "one hell of a butler".

So what? He still beat out this-this _Sebastian_ person by three million Awesome points! There was no doubt about it!

On a whim he decided to check Tokyo/Kristahlia's paper. You know, because she _had_ to have had put in some of the right answers...not really...no, he didn't trust her. But still! It was worth a shot!

...Wait. No it wasn't.

For one thing, it looked like Kristahlia and normal Tokyo were exchanging roles per question, which made the handwriting weirdly erratic and somewhat creepy. And was that blood or just red ink?

For another—

"_If anyone in the class was red-eyed, that'd make him awesome by default.—_**_Like I give a damn about that shit. Weillschmidt, I fucking know it's you boosting yourself and I don't give a damn about how awesome you think you are. Need I remind you that I command a snake army, bastard? Now will you please SHUT your SHIT-FILLED trap and—_**

He didn't stop reading because he was afraid or anything! He stopped because his eyes were being burned out by the unawesomeness!

Gilbird peeped out a rebuke. Gilbert decided to skilfully ignore , at least he could now fail them properly. He took a small consolation in that as he graded into the night _when he should've been out consuming beer and pancakes._

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The class was decidedly silent as they saw their teacher arrive with crazed red eyes and tousled platinum hair matched with a grin that meant, usually, painful death.

Moscow, or _Anya,_ as she was called within the motherland, swivelled her face into her usual calm, happy, I'm-planning-your-death-right-now smile that she reserved for teachers and subjects she didn't respect and/or enjoy _(One hundred percent Russia approved. She'd gone through a _lot_ to learn how to smile just so.)_ as she stared down her normally...less deranged teacher. She wondered vaguely if the test answers had upset him.

Gilbert-sensei continued grinning at them as he went on. "Your results, I'm afraid, are—"

"Less than satisfactory?" some random person in the back—was that Seoul? _Smartass_.—volunteered.

"Not 'less than satisfactory', _saumensch_." Seoul shrank back. "They were all fucking lies. Assholes."

Gilbert-sensei glared at them all, that warfreak grin never leaving his pale face. "And, students, you will all be forced to deal with your scores."

Ghostly white, spidery fingers landed a stack of papers on the desk—"Fail. All of you fail. And," he added, relishing the venom dripping off his tongue and the fear slowly surfacing on their faces, "all of you will be talking directly to our _Headmaster._"

A few students left the president/headmaster's room in tears. A hung-over and angry representation of England was a force to be reckoned with.

Gilbert leaned back against the doorframe and smirked. Their dearly beloved Headmaster was also extremely easy to wheedle when drunk.

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_saumensch: bitch, German._

**That bold death threat full of swearing in Tokyo's test paper? **Kristahlia, undiluted and unabridged. _**Are you scared now, fucking assholes? *prepares the snake army***_

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**_Once again! Please review!

~CHAOS


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